To Those It May Concern
by bobobobobobeep
Summary: Devil fruit users didn't have a choice on their power or their death. The power they are given - immortality, fire, being made of rubber - was chosen by the curse of the last siren. The curse grants them inhumane power and yet certain destruction; their power connects to their death: if you have the dark dark fruit, you die by darkness. Whispers, rumors, it seems no one will live.
1. All I've ever wanted was a family

Chapter One: All I've ever wanted was a family.

 _Warnings: child abuse, devil fruit shaming, talk about character death, curses, AU, unedited  
_

* * *

Get up, boy. Nameless boy. Devil boy. Undying dying boy. Slave boy, slave boy. Owned boy. Get up.

His flesh, without a wound or scrape, just with dried mountain of blood on his small bony frame, lacked the true horrors he had endured since his reckoning. The young boy's blond hair dirtied with piss and shit from the ground of the cell, he felt nothing. Nothing in the darkness and nothing in the one true truth. His young, broken mind comprehends faces all around him, word being spoken, but his soul does not see what they have done and will do to him - the nameless, the devil, undying dying, slave, owned boy. The whips and chains he is blind to; the fear, the interrogation, the curse - he cannot see any of that, not even his life.

Get up, _boy_.

The masters dig their fists into the leash of chains dragging the boy to come closer. They think they've broken the boy, stripped him of everything he once was and will ever become. Stripped him of his future. They blame the sea monsters but really this was what they desired as soon as the boy took his first breath into this wretched world. Unfair world, cruel world - it doesn't matter. Faces of mock justice eye the bloody boy as these masters command the other owned ones to do their bidding. Beat the boy, they tell the owned ones. Strike him, rip apart his flesh and dehumanize him, they order.

The boy is safe, is sound. Locked up in his own mind for protection, he grows numb to the dehumanization and monsterization. In his mind he sits in his little throne of books, in the history of the world that has been forced, for the most part, to be erased and forgotten. To be left behind. But the books pile and pile and his photogenic memory remembers how each and every book looks like, how each word is written in the black ink. He reads and reads, learns and learns. Never forgets.

In these books hide a great secret. One he has yet to crack. But the code that will lead him to all of the answers is in his throne of history, of books. Once, the words in the book say, there was peace and unity among the sea dwellers. They've many great powers and many great secrets, kept by the blood of the lamb, the screaming sea dwellers. In this book memorized by the owned boy, kept safe in his mind of books throne, lies the bigger picture. The people of the sea with unnatural skin color and scaly flesh were at the brink of war. No blood of the family members of the sea can be spilled in the holy water, the great ocean. Two parties, one larger than the latter, had turned to the land walkers for help and guidance.

The owned boy knows that the land walkers are a menace of the world and the knowledge of this has lead him in chains outside of his mind. He understands that he is undergoing torture in the outside world, understands that he is an owned human. An owned cursed human with a curse that is suppose to bring death and disease and yet it only brings him salvation from the clutches of death, the one true god in this world. They believe he has met The One, the sin of the world.

"Get up, boy." The words are harsh with the echoing of rattled chains, unknowingly bringing the boy back into the real world.

"Don't bother," one master spits out in disgust. "He's not here with us but in that brain of his."

An owned man who had previously told the child to get up backs down to dodge the fury of this particular master. His dark eyes look down to what is held in the master's hands, nearing pissing himself from the mere sight. The master holds out the needle built from the grass and shells of the mother sea, the only weapon that can temporarily withhold the curse's final gift. With one command the boy screams. This cruel world distinguishes hope from the paradise of the owned boy's mind, forcing his eyes to say farewell for a little while. Dark, dark, the whole world grows dark.

And then the boy remembers that he is now a man and that it was all just a dream of the past. His bright blue eyes open up in a haste only to be staring in the eyes of another. His brother, Thatch. His brother full of smiles and laughter, and childishness the blond had never had the chance to be.

"Morning, sleeping beauty. But more like afternoon, closer to evening." Thatch says softly and yet a little mischievous, adding in his infamous playful behavior.

"Really now, says the man who slept through an entire attack." The blond man, Marco, says in a pout.

"One time," the brownish-red head defends himself, pointing up a single finger to prove his point.

Marco dismisses the argument by sitting up straight and stretching his arms above his head. Dark circles are apparent under his eyes, for his blue phoenix curse couldn't cure everything. He spares no attention to the man still resting his head on his desk, instead he stands up and rummages through his closest. Taking a quick, unnoticed glance at Thatch's clothing to see what the weather was like, Marco decided to wear his favorite purple buttoned up shirt. Of course he left the front open for all to see - his mark, his muscles, his strength. He then picks out his dimmed blue satchel, leaving the loose pants he slept with on.

"I'm tired."

"Who wouldn't be, brother?" Marco laughs, making his way back over to Thatch. "Especially those who have a mountain of paperwork from their division and two others."

Thatch raised his head at that, tilting his head. When his older brother gave him a knowing glare, Thatch put his hands up in defeat. Lazily getting up to pat his brother on the shoulder, Thatch smiled weakly.

"I'm being called." Was all he said.

Marco leaned into the touch, just slightly, and sighed. "You are always being called."

"I need to go. It's important - and, and you know what happens when I ignore them."

Marco moved his mouth to Thatch's ear, whispering in a begging threat, "Don't be gone for too long. I promise I'll come get you if it comes down to it."

Thatch embraced his brother in a hug and whispered, "You promise?" Marco only sighed again, knowing what would come next. Thatch wanted him to tell pops. It always had to be Marco to tell pops.

0o0

Walking around on the Moby Dick was always a painful blessing. Marco always loved and will always love his adopted family, but it didn't mean that it didn't hurt to watch them walk by through time, through age. Everyone walks in and then everyone walks out of his life - that was and is and will forever be his curse: immortality. To be rejuvenated in mocking rebirth of a blue phoenix, unaffected by age and wounds and time while others are. One day everyone will die and be buried in the grave and Marco will always be there to witness it. So it was painful watching his brothers and sisters and yet it was also a blessing. A blessing because without his family, he would be nothing, have nothing, love nothing. A blessing.

One of his brothers asks Marco to help with carrying a few things down to the storage. Feigning a smile and taking some of his brother's burden of boxes of necessary materials for the ship, guilt sinks into the back of his throat for worrying about his own problems. How selfish, he mutters in his head. I should be here - here with my family, not somewhere in my mind. He shakes the thoughts out of his head, knowing what would come next if he didn't put a stop at it.

Get up, boy.

The two boxes Marco was carrying slips out of his hands in a daze, falling on the ground.

"Someone must have some things on their mind with a slip of your fingers like that stunt." A man dressed in fancy robes says, blinking his eyes innocently. He mutters something to his companion who was next to him, and then he picks up the fallen boxes heading down to the storage room with his other brother.

"There's a lot to think of," Marco defended himself, a little grouchy.

"And whose head have you bitten off today, first commander?" The sixteenth division commander, Izo, asked innocently, batting his eyelashes once again.

"I'm sorry," Marco apologizes, looking away from the crossdresser's all knowing piercing glance.

"No need. Come, walk with me?" Marco holds out his arm for his brother who happily accepts, entangling his arm with his older brother. "There is a lot to think of, especially now. Though I guess this news hasn't reached your ears. It's a little tough, so be prepared?"

"Tell me?" Marco half asked and half begged, knowing whatever it was it must be important. Izo was the man who had many ears and many friends to whisper in them.

Izo smiled, half sad and half amused. Sad, probably because of the news - or that was what Marco assumed - and amused by something he noticed in Marco. "Since you asked so nicely. Pop's heart is becoming weaker and weaker by the day. Doctors," Izo tightens his grip on his older brother's arm protectively, "Guess that he has six months to live. The curse is getting to him, Marco, and it is blowing his organs like his gift, pushing them to places where it doesn't belong, tremoring when it should lay dormant."

Marco didn't say a word for a while. Instead, he held onto Izo like life support, following where his brother's feet took him. Before long, he began to breathe normally again, back into this world where his family was and outside of his mind. Izo gave a knowing sad look at his brother, understanding his panic attack. But he needed Marco to be strong now, strong so the weaker siblings could have someone to fall on when the time is needed.

"I wonder," Marco started to say, "when it will be my turn to die."

Uneasy silence fell between the two siblings until the younger one stopped walking to unhook his arm away from his brother's. AN echo of a loud slap across the face was the only thing heard, the walls of the Moby Dick around them just as shocked and apologetic as Marco was feeling. Before the blond could apologize Izo wrapped his arm around Marco once again, this time laying his head on his shoulders - Marco was always the taller one, the stronger one, the one who always had feared abandonment.

"No one would be able to survive with our everyday activities without their mother hen, especially the young lion," _Thatch,_ "What has his heart told him now?"

"Somewhere was calling him, somewhere far away. Left a few hours ago. And," Marco gently nudged Izo, " I am not a mother hen."

"Exactly what a mother hen would say!" A cheery voice behind them chirped.

"Haruta," Izo smiled, letting go of Marco to head over to her. "Do you have the - " Marco tuned them out and continued to walk. He was close to where he was heading to, Izo leading him there without the Phoenix really noticing. "Marco, dear," Izo called out, "Do tell Pops I said hi. Also, the new shipments arrived successfully."

Marco waved off to his brother signalling that he heard the message even though he was still walking away, not facing Izo's direction. Once Marco arrived at his destination he knocked once, then twice, then remembered what Izo had told him. Pop's health was sinking into the sinkhole of death, and with this little reminder the Phoenix quickly opened the door. His heart stopped beating as his blue eyes searched through the room. No one was there. Relief flooded his mind as curiousity got to him which allowed him to take that first step into his father's room.

0o0

Whitebeard carefully staggered into his room, a sense of drunkenness and highness from the new drugs his daughters had prescribed to him. Each day closer to death was each day hyped up on meds that wouldn't mean anything in the end, but he carefully kept his mouth shut. His children were worried about him and in their eyes he could never die, never. But even the strongest man alive had to die sometime, and he knew that he was dying. Whitebeard would be dead very soon, but he didn't concern himself with any of it. Resting himself at his desk he let out a small frustrated groan. Opening on of his draws that hid his secret stash of alcoholic beverages, he wondered what his children would do without him. The future was vast and he knew that his children didn't see it the way he did, and he hoped that maybe someday they will.

An unnatural snore softly sang. Whitebeard turned his head to the origin of the noise, he noticed that his blankets were breathing. Smiling, he knew that his eldest son was there, there on his bed sleeping peacefully. Marco always had to be around someone, usually his father, to be able to sleep whenever he was stressed out. Right now what stressed his son out was probably fear like it had been so many times in the past. Marco never lived the perfect childhood, none of his children did, but for Marco he always had images and sounds messing with him from the past. All one could do to help him when he was like that was to allow him to rest and remind him that he is safe, that this was a safe place and no harm can reach him. Or his family.

The fear this time was most likely the fear of outliving everyone; the fear of witnessing each and every family member be buried in the grave. Seeing a lifeless body that had once been so full of life. This was a fear many of his children - even Whitebeard had this fear - but for Marco it was more intense, more painful. The curse did him no justice no matter what anyone says about it. The curse of the Phoenix, the curse of rebirth, rejuvenation, immortality. Being immortal around so many who were not was painful for Marco but he kept it hidden for the most part. He kept it hidden of the guilt he felt when the blue flames of the Phoenix healed him but not his fallen family members.

Taking a moderately big swig of rum, something on his desk caught his eye. A note with beautiful handwriting - courtesy of Marco. In his stunning handwriting, it said: Something is calling Thatch so he left today to find out what it was and what it meant. If he isn't back within a month I am going after him to bring him home. I'll be in charge of Fourth Division's paperwork, along with my own and Second Division's. Izo said the new shipments came in without a problem. - Marco. Whitebeard smiled at his son's straightforwardness and placed the note somewhere safe. Without taking another glance at his son, he took another large drink of his rum.

The breathing machine, along with Marco's Phoenix form snoring, were the only noises in the unusual quiet room. For Whitebeard, it was something he didn't want to hear. The breathing machine only reminded him that moving whatsoever will hurt and that he couldn't breathe by himself anymore. The wires sticking to his chest monitoring his heart was another reminder of his soon departure from this world. Honestly, he was afraid of leaving. Afraid of leaving and being the cause of his family falling into the depths of despair. His organs were rumbling from his curse and like an earthquake his insides tumbled, desperately trying to find a place to ground themselves.

His curse, his devil fruit.

Whitebeard wasn't there for when the curses started, but he had lived long enough to hear the tales of it. Little whispers here and there, little words that connected this to that. The government had all the answers to the curse but refused to admit it, refused to admit that it was real. But every now and then a little mouse would squeak and fill in the blanks. The rest was just generally known.

Two hundred years ago was when it started. When the birds and the bees sung and the ocean as clear and as pure as a babe's first breath, there were two different worlds. One world was above the sea and on land and the people who hosted that land were called land dwellers. Of course there were more than one type of land dweller, separated by the color of skin and race, and their own culture and history. But in general they were called land dwellers, today they're called humans. The second world was one in the sea where many creatures lived there. The creatures that lived there were known as being sea dwellers, fish people, merpeople. And in that world laid more diversity than the world above, ranging from mermaids and mermen, sharks and octopuses that could talk and walk on two legs. The variety was undeniable more vast than what anyone could comprehend but there was one species of the sea that stood out to the world above and below the sea: sirens.

Sirens had the amazing power to purify anything with their voices, their sweet singing voices. The reason why the sea was crystal clear and why fresh, extremely clean air was possible was all thanks to the siren's voice, their singing voice. With such pure power jealousy erupted throughout the sea and false rumors appeared on land. Sirens, little whispers of the land said quickly, lead fisherman off of their boats and into the sea where they would be sacrificed to keep the world pure. Their voices, the other sea dwellers would add on, are powers from the devil himself. They were given to those fake mermaids in order to kill everything in it's path.

Before long everyone had ill thoughts towards the sirens. Ill thoughts morphed into ill intentions, ill intentions turned into a mass genocide. Together the land dwellers and sea creatures banded up for the first and last time to eradicate the devils. Slowly the sea darkened with the blood of the pure, the air thickening with the loss of the purifying ceremony. When the sirens became weak and little their enemies decided to enslave them, rape them, feed them to their pets for entertainment. The last siren witnessed in horror the terrible deeds that were done to his people and, as a final act of self-preservation, this particular siren cursed the entire worlds. The curse was called devil fruits.

Devil fruits were just an intangible concept that explained the unexplainable. At random, in random times of the land dwellers or sea dweller's life, they would be granted a great power. The ability to turn to smoke, to turn to fire, to morph into animals or to talk to ghosts. At first glance these powers seemed amazing but as time passed they became a curse. Once attaining a devil fruit the person would no longer be able to swim, and any water - especially sea water - would render them useless and drained from any energy they have. Once in water all they would be able to do is sink - even the most amazing swimmers sank, even the sea people who were born and raised in water would sink and eventually drown.

That wasn't the full curse. These powers gained from the devil - people liked to call the last siren the devil himself - was a prophecy on how they will die. If the person had the power to be and control lava, they would die by lava. If they had the power to turn into an animal, they would die by that type of animal. And so on and so on.

The curse of a siren was something to be feared and to be reminded of the injustice but the land dwellers and the sea creatures only felt fear and repulsed, shunning and enslaving the demons.

Sirens were beautiful no matter what gender, Whitebeard mused. A long time ago the strongest man alive had met a siren. He was a man sitting on a rock, his fins tapping the water, purifying the dark blue sea around him. It was only purifying it gently and only where his fin touched.

"Aye," the siren called out in a friendly voice, noticing young Whitebeard - he was named Edward Newgate during this time, fifty some years ago. "Throw me a bottle, will ya?"

The voice captivated Edward Newgate temporarily stunning him. It was like a voice of an angel, so light and calming yet so demanding of what this creature seems to think he deserves. Before the siren spoke again Edward threw a bottle of red wine, the only alcoholic beverage he had at the moment. The siren smirked cockily as he caught it with ease - Edward was only feet away from the siren man afterall. The wine bottle was then quickly opened and then chugged, some of the red substance dripping down his chin forcing Edward to look away in shame. Honestly the pirate had never thought anyone like this before and for him it was kind of embarrassing.

"W-who are you?" The pirate stuttered out curiously.

The siren, already finished with the bottle, set it down on the rock and then dumped himself in the water. Within seconds he appeared leaning his arms and head on the edge of the pirate's boat, staring at Edward in wide eyes.

"I'm someone." Someone who didn't have the ability to stop Whitebeard's curse but knew someone who could. "And who are you?"

"Someone." Edward muttered slightly confused.

"I already said that, you can't go copying me! Rude!" The siren said laughingly. "If you wont tell me who you are, tell me what you want?"

Whitebeard closed his eyes, leaning on his chair. Remembering the siren made his heart twist because remembering the siren made him remember the regrets and chances he had never took to save his friend. It was full of regrets, regrets that were similar to his current regrets -

Regrets of not being able to save his family he had created from the nearing pain they soon will face. Funny how all he wanted was a family, a happy family. Looking over to the tint of none burning flames covered in his blankets, Whitebeared pondered the sickly thought of who's dreams will be broken: his or his child's?

* * *

 _ **Please review. This is an unedited version, so if you see any mistakes please tell me. Thank you!** _


	2. You should

Chapter Two: You Should.

 _Warnings: Injuries, talk of and hints of starvation, starving child, unedited_

 _Guest & JarOfIdeas:_ Sorry for that! And yes, I plan to make this a multi chapter fic, I even have an idea for a sequel. But my updates will be very unpredictable. I have many chapters planned and I don't necessary write them in order, so some chapters will be updated faster than the previous ones.

* * *

The sky shimmered in colors of blue and red, dancing around each other in a game similar to tag - the sun was setting, the night nearing. The fourth division commander rolled over on his left side so he didn't have to watch the darkness detain the beautiful colors of the sky. It was never fun watching the sky, or anything really, to be consumed into the lack of light. Funny how life tends to do that, Thatch mused, how life has a vicious cycle of beauty morphing into nightmares, and then nightmares changing into beauty. Nightmares weren't beautiful was something Thatch decided long ago; when the first sign appeared Thatch realized that the dimming down process was indeed a nightmare straight from the gates of hell, the first sign being the temporary lack of sight - lack of everything but dim, dim dark.

The next sign was the ability to feel darkness. With just the right breath and his eyes just in the right line of sight, Thatch could feel it. He knew that this concept was a sort of emotion, someone's history, and someone's feelings on life all mixed up in one: in darkness. Without telling anyone of this sign the Young Lion went about of his duties as a commander normally but the itching of knowing who it was, who's darkness this was, overcame his senses through a short period of time. At the other end was always someone in need.

On the Moby Dick for Thatch was a sensory overload. Everyone had a secret depression they only shared with their inner demons, even Pops. Even Marco. He could feel the painful emotions of them, sometimes getting random flashbacks of what their darkness's origin, sometimes just getting that feeling if the person wanted to die or not. Of course Thatch had used this new found power to his unawakened devil fruit to his advantage, preventing his siblings from throwing themselves overboard and ending their lives and making sure that those in need had a good laugh. His pranks had gotten more extreme and yet more considerate leaving his family in wonder. The playful commander never stopped trying to lift the darknesses from his siblings and those who had passed by him; he knew what would happen if he didn't. But he doesn't like talking about that particular recent event; Thatch just sticks the knowledge of failure is not an option, especially the mission his heart had told him to do now.

His heart was young and inexperienced to the horrors many people in this world had suffered. It wasn't like the Young Lion didn't know people suffer and go through terrible things in their lives, but honestly Thatch hasn't been through them. He can empathize, sympathize, but he never experienced it first hand. Staring at the wooden railing on the boat he was currently on, Thatch smiled - he enjoyed this gift, this blessing. Ordinarily he wasn't as observant as his siblings, and by always being around Haruta or Izo he felt like he was way less observant than ever; those two have ears and eyes that pierce a person into surrendering information. But even though his heart was inexperienced and he wasn't as observant or as all knowing as the people he surrounds himself with, he can still know. He can still know when someone is sad and in pain thanks to his devil fruit that was awakening.

This mission he was on, a mission from his heart, told him that whoever this person was was extremely important and on the brink of suicide. The darkness Thatch can feel coming off of this person is darker than anything he had witnessed seeing, darker than what he could imagine. It was horrible, so horrible, and Thatch just wanted to take this person and show the wonders of the world, show how happy and accepted they could be. Bring them to Pops because Pops will know what to do. If they didn't want that then maybe bring the person to a place where he or she would be happier, or do something - he had to do something. Whatever he decides to do, Thatch will definitely give this person a well deserved hug. Nobody should suffer through what that poor creature has suffered.

Water flung itself in the boat as a large wave hit the boat. Thatch jumped up in shock. Before he could have a look at the storm upon him his foot slid to the side, forcing his tall body to slam on the railing. Blood rolled down as his eyes shut - he was knocked out. While his unconscious body laid halfway on the boat and halfway on the outside another wave came rushing towards him. The clouds above had mercy on him, however, when lightning crashed with the wave separating it into many smaller, weaker waves. Another stroke of lightning hit the water just feet away from the boat and where Thatch was unknowingly hanging onto for the security of his continued life - resulting in the tear of the ship and splintering wood. The cracking wood was then pushed more upwards from the force of another wave. Boat now just rubbles of what could've been but wasn't, Thatch fell into the sea with a stray piece of wood piercing his unconscious body, sinking into the darkness.

It was always in the darkness.

0o0

Thatch looked around and noticed nothing but warmth. There was nothing, Thatch questioned, so why would it be warm? Maybe he was having a dream about cooking something, or something that made him feel warm. He couldn't remember why he was asleep or how he had gotten to this point, but he wouldn't let that get him down. No, not at all. Instead his curiosity took control of his feet, moving him this way and that way.

Something felt wrong. Not knowing what was wrong, the commander burrowed his eyebrows as his eyes shined: it was a test. Or something like that. Just another sign, then. Just another sign. His eyes stared intently at the darkness in search of an answer. All too soon he gets one; an alarming scream echoes through the place, wherever it was, an a nearing figure was seen in the distance. The closer he got the closer it resembled a person, maybe a fish person. All in all, it didn't matter which species they were. Many figures and many more screams were heard along with more nearing bodies. The bodies were outlines, never detailed. Inside of the outline of the person was orange light, just orange light.

The darkness around rolled off a laugh and like an infection the darkness seeped into the light of others. It was slow, slow as if the people were water inside a cup and the darkness was food coloring dripping into the water. Bearing it's roots inside each person and each scream, the people became one with the darkness. Their laughter which were screams only seconds ago filled the place with a type of insanity that didn't feel right with Thatch.

"Yes," thousands of voices said in almost harmony. "This is insanity."

Thatch connected the dots. Darkness. Insanity. His nearing death involved both of them. His devil fruit was reckoning, was awaking into it's full potential. Then, in years, days, maybe even seconds after he fully awakened his devil fruit, he would die. That was the conditions of the curse, of the gift. Without knowing the knowledge of when one will die but knowing in full detail of how one would die, the curse would mock the death by giving the cursed ones the power of their death.

The laughter was infectious with ill intent, but Thatch couldn't stop himself even if he had the power to stop. It was funny, he thought deep in his mind, in the back of his mind. It was so funny because this was nothing what Thatch was or stood for, but here he is being given the power of ultimate destruction. He couldn't throw it away or give it away no matter how much he wished or wanted: he was stuck with it.

Upon closer look at the laughing madness of the dark, Thatch noticed that it wasn't any ordinary darkness. It was fire, black sullied fire. He could feel how badly the darkness wanted to destroy and hurt others - it only made him laugh harder at this beautiful piece of satire. Within seconds the black fire consumed him in a bite. To others he wondered if he looked like a ball of light to infect. Or maybe he was already dark even though he had no reason to be; maybe he always was filled with these emotions deep inside where nobody ever looks - not even himself.

"You are the next victim," the black flame choked out. "But you are not ready. You're not ready to tame me. But when you touch the light, our prince, you will be. We will be waiting until that day comes. We all will."

Thatch's eyes opened and he sucked in air as if he were breathing for the first time in his life. His breath was forced and it felt like the darkness poured itself on him. The itching feeling of knowing that there were people near him with darkness - not the person he was searching for, though - that needed him. Or maybe he needed them, he wondered disgustingly. Maybe he was just attracted to darkness.

The fourth division commander knew he needed to ground himself to reality if he wanted to truly wake up and do what he needed to do. Focusing on his sense of smell, he sat there blankly for a few moments. Then the familiar ocean's smell came rushing into his nose. The next sense was taste, and the taste of dust and iron came quickly. Ears - ears were next. His ears heard the waves of the ocean hitting up what seemed like a boat in gentle caresses. Thatch, calming down tremendously, finally glanced around the room he was in and was able to actually make sense of it. He was in a medium sized room that had a bed and a desk and a door. Looking down he saw that he was shirtless but his torso and shoulders were covered in an bandaged shirt. The last sense hit him hard and rough; pain, as if a needle, stabbed in every nerve he could have, and then some.

This wouldn't work. Swinging his feet off of the bed, Thatch winced at the pain. It hurt moving. But the darkness he feels right now from the people outside of this room had to be his number one priority right now, and then leaving to go find that person. He had to find that person, had to find him soon. Ignoring the pain he stood up and then walked to the door. Masking his agony he put on a smile as if he had completely forgotten the stabbing pain in his torso. As soon as he opened the door the scent of hundreds of spices bombarded his nose.

"Well this sure is getting more interesting," The Young Lion muttered to himself as he pushed himself closer to the scent that smelled so much like his home's kitchen. A small feeling of regret surged through his mind as he remembered all of what he had left behind in order to find someone he didn't know.

The kitchen was filled with hundreds of busy chefs with their own kitchen gear. It looked like each type of meal was separated into its own department. Each chef only cooked one thing over and over as waiters rushed in and out organizing the meals to serve the customers. Everyone here was in uniform which made Thatch believe that this was a restaurant. A restaurant on the sea - huh, that seemed oddly familiar.

"Hey, you slacker!" A macho man yelled at Thatch without really looking at him. "Get on the uniform on and get back to your station!" The man threw Thatch the uniform shirt.

Thatch shrugged his shoulders, inwardly wincing. This was getting interesting. He caught the shirt and then put it on quickly. Rushing over to the sink to wash his hands, he then headed out to the nearest empty spot. Up above him was a string that held a small paper that said "Raspberry Cake" and with context clues the fourth division commander had concluded he ended up in the raspberry cake section. Rolling up his sleeves he began the work, blanking from all thoughts and unnecessary movements besides the work before him.

After every finished cake he caught out of the corner of his eye a thin boy watching him intently with a watered mouth. As the boy continued to watch Thatch made slight adjustments in his movements so the boy could see better. Before he knew it, the boy was as close as Thatch was to the material. The kid accidentally bumped Thatch sending Thatch into a frenzy - this was the kid that had the darkness in this restaurant, not the one he was originally looking for but the touch had told Thatch all what he needed to know.

This kid will always be hungry. He will be hungry until the day he dies, even if he stomach is full. Understanding eyes looked at the kid as the blond boy glanced up in an apologetic manner.

"I'm so - "

"Sorry, didn't mean to bump into you kiddo." Thatch laughed softly, moving over so the boy could have a place at the cooking area. The boy, noticing Thatch's invitation, widened his eyes in a mixture of awe and fear - for what he feared was what Thatch could only guess, only assume. "So do you know how to cook buddy?"

Even though Thatch showed no hint of disgust or ridicule, the boy could not help himself shrink under the words and soft smile the older man gave. Though feeling rather small - Thatch thought he looked like a small animal cowering away in a corner, trying not to notice that there were predators out there - the boy was taught to reply when others asked him a question. Shaking his head as an indicator for 'no', the boy hesitantly continued the seemingly innocent conversation.

"I- is that a problem?" Although his words came out harsher than intended, the older man merely shrugged his shoulders.

"We all start out somewhere. And starting out with sweets are the best! Here, come help me with this. First, you need to get the flour out like this… yes, amazing job," Thatch said as gently as he could in hopes not to frighten the small child. He instructed the boy with ease and having years of experience of training new cooks only made it easier. When he noticed the child drooling over the sweet scent the cake they were making Thatch pondered what he could do to help. The child looked up at him with big doe eyes, trying his hardest not to take some of the unfinished product to his mouth.

"You hungry?" Thatch asked absently, getting another off topic conversation going.

"N- no!" The boy gasped, wiping the drool off of the corner of his mouth, clearly ready to yell any defense he could.

"Ah, I see." Thatch continued to direct the boy into the next steps of the cooking process, humming. "I think I am getting hungry. Especially after putting this baby in the oven," He lightly smacked the oven. When the blond kid gave him an exasperated glare, Thatch quickly clarified his mistake. "All my food I create are my babies - er, it's a metaphor, you see. Whoever ends up having my baby, and hey, there's no sexual innuendo here, okay? But whoever ends up with it should feel amazed. Not because I made it, though I do take pride in my food, but more because it pleases them. I want to please them with my cooking, you see? It makes me happy to see them pleased with my food."

The boy gave him a questioning stare but when the timer ringing Thatch quickly took it out of the oven. He instructed the blond to add whatever frosting and decorations were requested, amazed of the natural skill that was shown considering that the kid seemed like he had never baked before. Thatch praised the blond to which he blushed feverously and kicked the fourth division commander in the shin. If it hurt, Thatch didn't say anything about it.

"Come with me for a second, kid," Thatch whispered as their baked good was taken away by a waiter. Without question, the boy followed. All there was in reply was a soft name spoken, 'Sanji.' Thatch grinned wildly, applying the name to the kid.

"See, look Sanji. That's our baby," Sanji kicked the older male again in the shin, blushing at the word 'baby'. But nonetheless, he looked. What he saw was a young girl, probably a few years older than himself, bringing a fork up to their creation - he was never going to use the term 'baby' because who the hell does that? She smiled as soon as the fork entered her mouth.

"She looks… Happy." Sanji commented.

"Doesn't it make you feel accomplished?" Thatch asked proudly.

"It actually sort of does."

Thatch hummed in agreement as he grabbed the boy's arm, dragging him back into the kitchen. Glancing around, he sighed. "Sanji? I'm still hungry."

"W-w-well we all have to wait until it's our lunch break!" He nearly yelled, afraid of the word 'hungry'. Thatch could feel the kid's darkness shudder at the mere mention of it.

"That doesn't mean anything." When Sanji gave him a cold glare, Thatch continued on talking in hope of the kid to agree whatever he was thinking. "You don't have to eat to quell hunger." Sanji's darkness flickered at the thought, face morphing into something akin to terror. "What I mean is, hey, just stop looking at me like that and let me explain okay? What I mean is how about you - we - occupy our mouths to make us feel better about waiting for lunch." Before Sanji could spit out what Thatch knew he was going to say in protest, Thatch spoke quicker. "Like gum!"

Sanji paused in his tracks, shocked. Then wonder crossed through his eyes, head tilting. Thatch held back an urge to pat his head and tell him he was a good kid, knowing all too well that his shin would probably break if he got another one of those damn kicks. Those actually hurt!

"Gum?"

"Yeah, know where any are?"

It didn't take long for the two cooks to get into a routine where one would direct and the other would do, Thatch making sure to take turns to make sure that Sanji was learning. The taste in the gum didn't last long, but to his amusement Sanji had commented he liked the gum better when bitter. His drooling and ogling the food became less and less allowing Thatch to believe that Sanji was ready to learn other dishes that had more aroma. After sneaking off to another station - both him and Sanji giggling at the fact that they were being sneaky - Thatch soon realized his assumption was indeed correct.

"You really are a natural," Thatch commented, stretching out his limbs. "I wish I was a natural when first learning how to cook. Would have made the entire thing more appealing." When the older man saw a question forming on the child's lips, he continued to speak as a thought in the back of his head began to think about his main goal that had him leaving the Moby Dick. Sadly, it wasn't because of this kid's darkness. It was a fairly easy darkness to handle, only because he had helped many people like this before, but still incredibly sad and heart breaking. Which made him shudder at the mere thought of how horrible messed up this darkness pulling him was. "Hey, I gotta quick question."

"What?" Sanji said using his soft tone - something Thatch appreciated over the fearful defensive comments he had gotten earlier.

"What is this place called?" When the short blond gave him a glare that borderlined astonishment and horror, Thatch gave a little light hearted chuckle. Not at the boy's expense but at his own stupidity.

"Baratie," Sanji quietly mumbled. "That's what the old man wanted to name it. Stupid, right?" He looked up to meet Thatch's eyes, wondering what he was going to say next.

"Old man?" Thatch questioned childishly, more to himself than the child. There was something poking around in his memory something stirring, and Thatch was trying to regain the old memory.

"His name is Zeff. He's alright." Even though his words hinted no praise or high regard for the chief, Thatch could tell by the way the boy's world lit up just by saying the owner of the restaurant's name.

Zeff? Thatch paused for a second as the old memory popped up in his head. It was an article one of his brother's showed him where two people, one Zeff the pirate captain of the cook pirates - known worldwide for his amazing skills in the kitchen - and the other one a kid who Thatch guessed was Sanji, were stranded without food or water for… the amount of time slipped Thatch's mind, but he knew it was a while, where the two nearly died of starvation. He heard rumours of cannibalism but was quick to shake that off considering Zeff was one of the ones stranded. That ex-pirate was a huge softy even though he would never admit it. Hell, Thatch would never admit it outloud for fear of retribution.

"Another question…" Thatch trailed up, rubbing Sanji's fluff of hair. When the boy looked up, not saying anything about the pure affection Thatch was giving him, the older man continued. "Where can I borrow a boat at? And when I mean borrow, I mean take and never give it back, probably never going to pay for it either. And it will most likely end up broken where I'm heading to."

Sanji grinned wildly. Taking Thatch's hand away from his head, he held tightly onto the larger hand and lead him away to where the boats were docked.

0o0

The day was turning to night on the restaurant on the see, and one very grumpy cook was searching through the entire ship looking for a specific boy. More like man, but considering his age and the person in question's age, he had a right to call the man a boy. He'd just gotten off the snail with Whitebeard informing him that he found one of his sons nearly drowning in the sea with a wrecked boat, to which Whitebeard laughed with his infamous 'gurararaarahaha'. Even though he came with dreadful news, reporting the injuries and damage done by the storm Thatch, the fourth division commander and head chief of the Whitebeard Pirates, had probably been victim of, his adoptive father just laughed giving the only explanation of 'he has the devil's luck, that's for sure!' And the cue in another episode of his infamous laugh. If there were moments of a coughing fit and what seemed to be a pause for vomiting blood - Zeff knew what was occurring; he wasn't stupid by no means - he ignored it in favor of not ruining the joy and pride the older man held for his son. When the conversation ended, Zeff entered the problem he was currently in: where the bloody hell was the kid?

Where was Thatch?!

After checking nearly every inch of the third story of the restaurant boat, he decided to go down a level. He reasoned that once a chief, always a chief, and that the boy was most likely starving. Starving children did not sit well in the ex-pirate's stomach. So, straightening out his posture to keep his same intimidating reputation, he opened the kitchen doors. Quickly looking through each station with practiced ease, he was at a lose. Just where was that boy? How was he supposed to explain this to Whitebeard without the strongest man in the world laughing his laugh off at him? Oh, boy, that was a conversation he assumed would be a pleasant one. Not really, because it wasn't going to happen because damn! He did not lose the kid!

As his eyes fell onto a certain station in the back, his eyes widened. At first anger seethed through his veins at whoever allowed his child to operate a station by himself while he was still recovering - Sanji wasn't his blood son but he guessed he was a little like Whitebeard in this manner; these people here were his family, and after going through such a horrific event with the youngest he felt the need to protect and love him as if he were his real son; not that blood mattered, but he was never going to admit that to the boy himself out of fear and other mixed up, confusing emotions. Walking quickly to his child Zeff huffed at the others who dared looked at him. Those that did only shrugged their shoulders in what Zeff couldn't understand right now.

When he was in front of Sanji, Sanji didn't even notice him. Which was weird in its own place; Sanji always knew when Zeff was near because he looked up to the man, loved the man like a father, admired him and aspired to be like him. Though the ex-pirate needed more time to cope with this new development. He was still overprotective of the child seeing as he nearly starved to death on his watch. If they'd been stuck there any longer the man would have allowed the boy to eat little of him in order to save the brat. Which, just to say, was saying a lot considering he was completely against cannibalism; why eat people when there were so many other creatures and plants out there to cook up? It didn't make sense to him, but back then in that moment it made perfect sense. He was trying to be the adult… But failed Sanji. He would never fail him again.

So he needed more time to come up with a plan to help Sanji out, but by looking at the boy cooking it seemed the problem fixed itself. Before he questioned how Sanji could hold back the pain of not eating, he heard soft smacking. At a closer look, he saw that Sanji was chewing gum. Genius! Pride swelled up in Zeff's heart as any trace of anger vanished. It was that very moment that Sanji turned over and saw his hero.

"Don't be mad!" Sanji pleaded, questioningly looking up at his saviour. "I - I am not eating anything, see? And I've been cooking for a while. I learned a lot of things today, but they aren't as good as your cooking when you do this, but, but see," Sanji proudly held up his dish to show Zeff. "See?"

It took a moment for Zeff to gain back his composure, Sanji taking it as a hint that he was disappointed in him. Before those eyes could get any sadder, Zeff gave off a small smile. "You did an okay job," And right now that was the only thing that he could have said right now.

"You really think so?" Sanji cheered, nearly jumping up and down in excitement.

"Yes," Zeff fake coughed as he noticed the other chiefs giving him knowing looks. He yelled at them to get back to work and then brought back his attention on the small child. "Who taught you?"

"Ah, I didn't catch his name. He had a weird pompadour." Sanji looked dejected at the thought he should have done something. "Was he new or something? Don't remember seeing him around a few days ago. Hell, I don't - " Zeff gently kicked him with his stubbed foot to which Sanji screeched 'hey' but otherwised ignored it. "I don't remember seeing him yesterday."

"His name is Thatch, and no he doesn't work here." Looking around, the older man questioned, "Where is he at?"

"Oh…" Sanji blushed, obviously knowing something. "Is he a pirate?"

Zeff raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. Just allowed Sanji to explain at his own pace.

"Because he wanted a boat to borrow. And I gave him permission to use a marine's ship." Whether there was a hint of playfulness in the child or not, Zeff didn't care. He headed for the docks, knowing he would be too later but he still had to at least try.

Once outside he didn't see any stray marine ship, though he did note that there was one missing - those who owned the boat would be pissed, but hell, it was their own fault. The breeze hit his face as he let out a long, exhausted sigh in knowing that he was going to have an interesting talk with Whitebeard soon. As he turned around to go back inside, he whispered to no one in particular,

"Thank you. For helping what my son do what he should."


	3. D

Chapter Three: D

 _Warnings: Cursing, short chapter, death, unedited_

* * *

Grief was a word that could describe a part of the feeling that was bubbling up in the teen's gut. Guilt, yeah, but it was more than that. Everything the teen was feeling was more, more—he couldn't describe the feeling entirely even if his or his brother's lives depended on it. The feeling was growing, too. Growing into this large mass inside of his mind that wouldn't go away. The mass would always be there, dormant; there was no way that he would allow these feelings to surface; his brothers would know then. Maybe they already know. But at least they don't show it. And he sure as hell doesn't share it either.

Sabo is a gentleman after all. He's well trained in the aspect of holding in feelings as if they were never there.

The blond teen brushes his scarred part of his face, remembering. Remembering how he had no idea who his brothers were. It's not like it would have changed anything, though. His older brother Ace would have sacrificed himself to keep him alive, even if it was for one more second. They were family, a bond deeper than blood and sake—a bond that would never falter. They only had each other now, Sabo reminds himself as he turns away from the burning island.

The ocean sent a peace offering to Sabo as it rocked him gently to sleep. Without thinking of it he pulled his younger brother, Luffy, closer to his chest as he stretches his feet on top of his older brother. The boat they escaped in was a mere row boat, barely holding the two fourteen year olds and the toddler. This boat was enough, though. It was enough. Ace, the eldest, kept his eyes closed as he felt Sabo drift to sleep.

God, did he need that, Ace thought.

They've been through enough already. Been through too much to be awake for three consecutive days. Sabo had been the one to plan it, though. He was the one who made it possible to sleep, hell, he was the one who made it possible that Ace and Luffy were still breathing. A miracle one would say but in this case it was no work of mysterious acts of a heavenly figure; it was the act of concise, backstabbing planning that made it possible. All those people who had raised Ace and Luffy were dead. The only good thing that came out of that was the only people—excluding the three on the row boat—who knew of their existence were also dead. That means that the three could start all over; start over with lies, deceit and murder.

Ace had no problem killing off people he grew up with which scared the life out of the older teen. He had no problem at all. It was all for a cause, though. Everything they have ever done was for a cause. Ace knew there was no hope for him to get better, Sabo knew too, but Luffy—he had all the time in the world. He'd never get sick, get cursed, but he would be hunted down. Hunted down just like the Celestial Dragons did to Ace.

Gol D. Ace, the only son of Gol D. Rodger, the King of Pirates. Of course the title didn't mean he was a pirate, no, it meant something more important. It symbolized his importance to the Government. Even though the World Government is similar to a dictatorship it did not mean that they could execute just anyone. They needed a reason to justify Rodger's disappearance without telling the world of who he really was: a "D". A true member of the "D" clan, not just somebody who wants to be a somebody who had changed their middle initial to a "D". With the world economy this low it was a fast train to glory and riches if a person had presented themselves with their middle initial "D".

Nobody knows what D stands for, nobody but the true D members.

Only Ace; only Ace knows.

0o0

On the Moby Ship it was not easy to hide who one truly is. Secrets don't hide on that ship and neither do evil lying traitors. Once word gets to one ear it ends up going around the entire ship: who banged who, who stole from who, who killed who. Teach knew this before he ever went on board the Moby Dick and before he got the mark on his back; before the sun first rose when he was born to the first night that he ever saw. It was common sense around the world that the Whitebeard Pirates were a loyal family who just loved gossip. Gossip was what the entire ship thrived on whether it was one of the division commanders or the lowest rankers on the ship; but Teach knew differently. He knew what the gossip really meant; it was to keep tabs on everyone, everything.

Nobody really trusted Teach. They didn't know him. All they knew was that there was something strange about him, something incredibly strange. But Whitebeard trusted him enough to allow him to have his mark. Something good must have shown through Teach. Something. So the members began to gossip and talk and talk.

'I bet he was an assassin who ran away from home'

'I heard one of the Vinsmoke ran away from home'

'Bet he's still holdin' on ta his cherry'

'Cruel, saw him in the last attack…'

It never stopped. Never. And to be truthful it bothered Teach enough to go to Whitebeard. He heard that Thatch had left and thought he could strike up a conversation about that or something; Thatch was the one who had initially brought him to this ship saying that it would help his light break through the darkness. Crazy man, Teach smiled as he remembered how he met the fourth.

 _Dead bodies filled the air with a rotting sensation. Any sane man would gag at the smell and if not the smell than the sight alone would. Dismembered body parts lingered around one man: Marshall D. Teach. His wanted poster was all around the world now even though he wanted to keep a more private life. But being born a D meant trouble and lots of it._

 _Teach turned around as he heard a faint whistle. It grew stronger as it neared. The whistle brought in a man with a strange 3-D hair style in a chief's outfit. His shoes were pure black and skipped through the puddles of blood and dead bodies, splashing onto his pure white outfit. Teach subconsciously stepped back as the man neared, obviously setting his sights on the bigger man. He flinched when the cook began to talk to him so casually._

 _"Howdy stranger, fancy meeting you here. I was just gonna smash this dirt around but it seems like someone already did that work for me. You know, usually farmers burn the ground after the season's over. To help the soil become healthier for the next season of growing. But you went up and just chopped them down. Lucky them."_

 _Teach, appalled by this strange man, grunted. He wanted to leave because something was off about this man; he didn't run away from the bodies or the stench; he didn't look disgusted by the sloppy looks Teach was born with; he didn't turn away even though he is from the D clan. These signs frightened the fatter man profoundly, slightly disgusted by this act of friendliness. The act of familiarity._

 _"I saw yer wanted poster by the way. It's pretty high up on the mark, isn't it? A man should celebrate his bounty."_

 _"And what's it to you? You have a high bounty."_

 _"I celebrate every day," The crazy man said as he took out a bottle of rum from somewhere in his pocket. "You seem like you don't. Let's change that." He threw Teach the bottle after he took a sip._

Teach brought up his hand to his Pop's door, knocking gently. He knocked gently in case the old man was actually there. Teach was a nervous man; Whitebeard was a very intimidating man. Most times Whitebeard didn't mean to be. He was just huge. Teach was a big guy, fat, tall-ish, big head. But Whitebeard was a whole different kind of man. 'Big' didn't do him any justice. If 6 feet was tall, he was a giant. He had abs, though, something Teach was jealous of.

Teach never wanted to be who he was. He never wanted to be a 'D'. He never wanted to be cursed and thrown away by life as if he was trash. Teach knew what it meant when a man like him would be infected; the D clan was apart of the reason why the curse began with. He will die a very painful death with his eyes ripped out of his sockets. He would live in a world full of darkness and shame. Time will eat away his name and force his body to cease to exist. And when that happens he will be just a fragment in the dark, a whisper when the lights turn off.

That is what he feared more than anything in the world.

0o0

Marco was having a hard time talking with his father. Whitebeard knew it, too. But he couldn't do anything about it; it was a fact: he was going to die. Nothing could change that. But Whitebeard had lived a very fulfilling life so far: he made a family, made friends and enemies, breathed, hurt, and loved. It was a wonderful life. So wonderful.

So short.

Marco sighed as he heard a knock on Whitebeard's door. Nodding to his father he got up to open the door. Deep in thought he opened the door, unaware on who it was. He was about to leave the room to give the person some privacy with Pops until he saw who it was: Teach. There was always something that bothered Marco about Teach and it wasn't because of the rumors. His bird instincts told him to rip apart the man and peck his insides out but he had to fight the animalistic urge because what was standing before him was his brother. Many years ago he promised to protect his family, his sisters and brothers, his father, himself. Protecting them came from the core of who Marco was: a protector.

But he still wanted to rip apart every organ in that man.

Marco left the room with a glare as he turned the corner and then stopped. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to leave his father. Something was brewing up, or that was what Marco used as an excuse to stay there. He could barely hear the words being muttered but what he heard stuck inside of his head.

What? Marco couldn't gather up the majority of what was being said. Whitebeard had used the vibrations of his curse through the walls to warn Marco not to linger any more. Of course Whitebeard would know he was there. Pops had allowed him to hear one word clearly, though. The first commander didn't know what it meant or the importance of it.

Descendants.

0o0

The waters were getting dangerously aggressive by this point. The small row boat would break sooner than later. Fear crawled in the gut of the teenage boys as Sabo held onto Luffy tighter than necessary. He didn't want to lose anymore people at this point and Ace couldn't blame him for wanting that. Sabo wasn't like Ace in the manner of being numb to losing people; Ace lost his mother when he was four years old by marines; he lost his father when he was two by marines; he lost his adoptive mother, Dadan, due to a fire accident when he was twelve; lost his grandpa when he was thirteen when the World Government found out who he was and what he was capable of; lost his will to live, his sense of adventure and a part of him would say he lost a part of his soul.

Ace didn't want to admit it, but once Luffy was brought into his life he seemed to brighten up if only just a little. Luffy was this little ball of life that knew nothing of his heritage or about the history of the world. He was innocent and naive and always hungry and sometimes a little shithead but he was there, he was here. He was everything to Ace and Sabo. Something that they swore to protect. Luffy was... Their hope. Their present. Their future. And Ace would do anything to keep that baby boy alive, even if it meant he would be exposed to the entire goddamn world.

The row boat ripped in half as the waves crushed the wood. In that second Ace jumped over to Sabo and Luffy and grabbed them as his feet morphed together into a fish tail. Scales crawled up his spine, wrapping around his belly button. His features, no longer awkward and gawky, fined out into a beautified beast. His eyes began to glow in the dark, this bright gray shimmer. The waves were no longer a danger for the three kids; the water was now their home. Ace felt alive, really alive, in the water. His arms held Sabo, the slightly taller teen, who was currently holding Luffy.

Sabo mouthed a question to Ace as his long arms wrapped around his older brother, pushing Luffy in between the two teen's chests.

"Luffy isn't a siren." Ace said in the most exotic voice Sabo had ever heard, much less imagined. As Ace spoke, explaining how he and Luffy were different yet extremely similar, the water near them calmed down. The deep blue ocean began to lighten up the more he spoke as if he was purifying the water around them.

* * *

Guest: D has something to do with it but it's a little more than that. I'll explain it in other chapters because I don't want to give away any spoilers :) But yes, there can be more than one person with the same curse.


End file.
